


heartstrings that play soft and low

by cinderlily



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:49:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderlily/pseuds/cinderlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'And then suddenly it was just him, Kurt and their daughter.' A look into Puck finding himself after he's found everything else. Part of the DIWWCF verse but in the fu(uuuuuu)ture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heartstrings that play soft and low

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://carolinecrane.livejournal.com/profile)[**carolinecrane**](http://carolinecrane.livejournal.com/) has quite literally dealt with me for over a month as I wrote this, so any alcohol or chocolate you can send her way would probably be much appreciated. She is an amazing and giving beta, always ready to help. ♥

Puck can remember a lot of nights that he didn’t sleep. Weeks even, when he’d survived off of a catnap and Red Bulls. He remembered going through it and knowing it was kind of crazy but he’d never thought it could be looked back upon fondly.

The first three weeks of Stella’s life were a blur of half remembered moments, visitors and a constant thrumming bundle of nerves in his stomach. His mom and sister was there for the first week, Finn stayed a day after that, Burt and Carole stayed the first two and then _suddenly_ it was just him, Kurt and their daughter.

He’d kind of expected relief when everyone left, his territory cleared and the house a decibel or two quieter. It was nice, for about a minute before he realized that no one was _there_. Stella was blissfully quiet but who knew when that would change and when she cried how would he know what the hell he was supposed to do?

When he looked at Kurt for some comfort he could tell from the terror in his eyes that maybe it wasn’t just him freaking out. They spent the better part of thirty minutes staring at her tiny lips twisting and her hands tensing and relaxing on the edge of the baby blanket before she started to cry and they actually had to _do_ something.

Thankfully he found that once the task was at hand there was a lot less time to worry about it and a lot of it was just guessing until they got it right either way. Kurt was a natural, even if he almost treated her like a china doll, but he hummed and fed and changed her like this wasn’t the first kid he ever held.

Puck had memories of Sarah coming home from the hospital, vague and distorted through the eyes of a jealous older brother of course but he remembered little things. The way his mom always cupped her neck, the way she tested the bottle of her wrist. He had watched all the parents interact with her over the last weeks as well and he’d taken mental notes. Still though, he couldn’t help but feel like he was all thumbs.

“Two hands,” Kurt yelped, startling not only Stella but Puck as well. Stella didn’t take kindly to the jostling and started to wriggle, her skin tingeing red.

He felt his skin grow warm with annoyance. “What?”

“You’re holding her like a football.”

“I’m holding her,” he gritted his teeth. “With her head supported and her body resting against mine. She’s fine.”

He shifted her a little when Kurt wasn’t looking, but he was sure he’d held her the correct way from the beginning. Or. Mostly sure.

“Plus, you’re kind of shaped like a football,” he said, barely above a whisper. “A cute football, but let’s be realistic here, Estella Rose.”

Her eyes had already closed but in her sleep she let out a sigh that sounded a lot like ‘you’re right’ to Puck. He smiled.

*

Puck never really thought of himself as a stay at home dad, not that he hadn’t considered a career as a trophy husband at one time or another but that was a different story. He hadn’t pictured being the one to wave as Kurt went off to work, to end up with a kid in his arms and in his protection. It was kind of humbling.

The first day Kurt went back to work Puck spent a good long hour waiting for things to go wrong. But when Stella was still asleep and there hadn’t been like a fire or an earthquake he figured he should probably get something done. He cleaned the kitchen because even he had standards of cleanliness, did a load of laundry and walked around aimlessly for a little while.

Then Stella needed him. He could manage that. He fed her and changed her and then lay with her on the ground. He couldn’t remember if it was too early for ‘tummy time’ but he rolled her over and she instantly fussed at him so he figured he didn’t need to look that one up. He grabbed one of the thousand books his mom had brought with her and read her about a page of it before she was sacked out against his chest again.

He flipped the TV on and caught the third inning of the Angels of Anaheim playing the Mariners.

“This,” he whispered towards the top of Stella’s head. “Is baseball. It’s going to be important to you someday, hopefully, so I won’t tell you you slept through your first game.”

*

Day two he braved leaving the house because he was pretty sure there was only so many days one could be in their own house before they went completely insane. They didn’t even need anything but he needed _out_ so he made a list of random non-essentials as an excuse and decided Fred Meyer’s was the best place on earth.

It took him forty-five minutes to just get both of them in the car, which included two false starts for diaper changes and one when Puck got the car out of the driveway and realized he didn’t have his wallet. It was an exercise in patience that Puck wasn’t aware he had.

Kurt’s consistent and persistent text messages to make sure Stella was alive weren’t particularly helpful but he responded dutifully. He knew if he was away from her he’d worry, too, and he was swallowing any jealousy of the right to worry about her. He and Kurt had talked it out. _He’d chosen to stay home._

He walked the aisles of Fred Meyer’s for half an hour, picked up things that he really didn’t need and contemplated the backs of them like they held the clues to world peace. He wasn’t sure if it was in his mind or not but it felt like every woman was stopping to ask if he needed “help”.

When he realized it was the baby in the sling on his chest more than … well… his actual chest, he could admit his pride took a hit. But then again, his daughter was pretty freaking cute so he got where they were coming from. He’d heard before that babies were chick magnets, figured he’d find that out when he had no real interest in that anymore at all.

He ended up buying a few new movies and a series of a TV show he’d never heard of before. As if she could sense they were leaving Stella got restless, rubbing back and forth on his chest and mewling unhappily.

“Time to get to mommy for milk,” the lady behind the counter smiled as she put his purchases in a bag.

Puck rolled his eyes. “I’m mommy.”

Wait. That came out wrong. She arched an eyebrow.

“I mean she’s being bottle fed.”

“Have you heard about the benefits? Her immune system would be …”

He waved his bag a foot from her face. “Heard it, read it. Thanks.”

There was a Starbucks next door and he grabbed a coffee and fed her in a corner booth, unsure of just who or why he felt the need to prove himself to.

*

       

By the time the weekends rolled around it was almost annoying to have Kurt around. He’d gotten it down pat, he didn’t need another cook in the kitchen – though having an actual cook in the actual kitchen might be nice – but he couldn’t quite say that out loud. It was weird. He was a mixture of exhausted, sore and in serious lack of adult company but at week three, when Kurt offered an afternoon off it didn’t sound appealing at all.

Mercedes showed up at their door and dragged him out, and when did that happen?

“Let Kurt bond,” she said. “Plus I could use some eye candy to be ‘seen’ with.”

Puck went, mostly because Mercedes was pretty damn scary when it came down to it, but also because he didn’t mind being referred to as ‘eye candy’.

They went to lunch at a random place Puck had never heard of and Mercedes insisted was an ‘it’ place. He didn’t care. He was just hoping he didn’t have spit up on his shoulder. That was a faux pas he didn’t need to repeat anytime soon. She ordered the salmon and he ordered a burger and fries – she rolled her eyes but he ignored it—and then she gave him a serious look.

“So tell me how ridiculously happy you are.”

He sat back in his chair and blinked. He knew he was happy but that was only one of many many emotions he was currently going through. He picked up his water and sipped at it. “I’m ridiculously happy.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Mercedes rolled her eyes. “You only have the American dream.”

Which he did; minus a dog and 1.5 kids he was resting at what most people spent all their lives trying to have for a single moment. He felt stupid about it, worse that it was obvious enough to someone he hadn’t seen in weeks.

“Kurt called me,” she said, finally. “Said you’ve been like a robot for weeks.”

“I’m just happy I’ve been functioning,” Puck rubbed at his eyes. “I’m running on 3 hours of sleep. Which is seriously messed because I’m pretty sure she sleeps 24 hours a day. It’s like she shifts and I’m up. Then when I should be doing something I can’t focus cause I can’t sleep.”

Mercedes looked at him like she had a quip on her tongue but wasn’t willing to say it. Instead she nodded and said. “Okay. Well, what are you going to do about it?”

Puck furrowed his brow and stared at her. “What do you mean what am I going to do about it?”

“It’s obvious you aren’t ‘ridiculously happy’ and ‘functioning’ isn’t exactly something people strive for so how are you going to change it so you feel human and realize you have an awesome husband and the cutest daughter possible?”

He exhaled before taking another sip of his water.

“I _am_ happy,” Puck corrected. “I feel almost stupid with it. I never thought of myself as the kind of dad who would find his kid kicking something amazing but I do. I want to call my mom when she tries to lift her head…And I love my husband. It’s me that’s broke. I wake up, take care of Stella, kiss Kurt, make food.”

Mercedes hummed. “Sounds like we’ve got to your ass back into gear. Remind you of who you are.”

“When did you become my sensei?”

“Puh-lease,” she rolled her eyes. “I’ve always been smarter than you at this kind of stuff, I’m just gifting you this because you’re kid’s killer cute and because I’m avoiding studio time.”

Puck lifted his eyebrow and saw the possibility of getting out of this conversation. “Getting out of it? You’re usually knocking down doors.”

“That’s when I have stuff I actually want to record,” Mercedes sighed. “I’ve got the lyrics and they started to pay some hack to give me music but the guy wouldn’t know what he was doing even if I bought him ‘Music for Dummies’.”

The waiter came and placed their food in front of them. His burger looked just as good as he was anticipating. He took a satisfying bite and relaxed.

“Why don’t you find someone else?” he said, his mouth full.

Mercedes cringed. “Why don’t you swallow?”

He did, but added. “Kurt never complains.”

“Gross Puckerman.”

He winked at her. “Seriously, there are probably a thousand people out there just dying for their one chance to be a part of a Mercedes Jones original.”

Mercedes had stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth, lower lip bitten between her upper teeth. It was a look he’d gotten many times in their quasi friendship and had yet to end up going someplace good.

“What?”

She put her fork down. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

She smiled. “ _You_ play guitar. Quite well if I remember correctly, and you know my voice well enough.”

He rolled his eyes and took another bite of burger.

“Hear me out! The guy they had originally could barely hold a guitar right. You’ve got yourself some free time when Stella naps. What’s the worst that can happen?”

Puck was sure that was rhetorical but answered either way. “I could bomb and ruin your album. You could hate it and not tell me out of pity. Kurt could freak out. Stella could freak out. Besides I don’t even play your type of music.”

Mercedes held up a hand and started answering the questions by ticking them off. “You will not ruin my album, if it doesn’t work it doesn’t work. When have you EVER known me to keep my opinion to myself to spare feelings? Kurt will think it’s awesome, you could do it from you house and he’s really worried about it. Stella isn’t even old enough to freak out. If the music bugs her we can her headphones. And most importantly, we can combine music and start a revolution.”

“Well,” he paused with a half formed retort, but none seemed to make her points any less valid. “You think your record label is just going to be okay with a nobody on your record?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot my ticket to this pity party and I’m all booked up. My record table will at least give it a chance if I vouch. What we need is some proof. What’s your day like tomorrow?”  Mercedes grabbed out her cell phone and looked at the calendar, and all Puck could do was laugh.

He picked up his phone and went through the motions of looking at his calendar. “Well, let’s see. Oh yeah. Nothing. I’ve got nothing tomorrow. Kurt leaves at 7. Stella naps when she wants.”

Ignoring him Mercedes frowned at her phone. “Okay, if I move two things around I can get to your place at 2 and be there for the better part of the day. Sound good to you?”

She looked up at him and he shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

“I’ll email you the lyrics tonight if you want to start?”

The fact that she was already staring at her phone and ignoring him made it pretty clear that the answer was bound to be yes. With or without his input.

*

While he was gone, Kurt had put together a simple meal that just needed reheating for dinner. He shooed Puck out of the kitchen and said he was working on a surprise, which by no means was scary as hell in Puck’s book. Puck spent the unexpected free time feeding Stella and brooding on the conversation he’d had at lunch with Mercedes.

By the time he’d gotten home he had all of the lyrics in a zip file and he went through all 20 tracks with growing fascination while idly bouncing Stella against his shoulder. Mercedes, unsurprisingly, was extremely talented at what she did. Her last album had been a lot more upbeat and intense but he could see from the lyrics she was going for thoughtful with the new one.

He hummed a melody that popped into his head for one of the tracks and in her sleep Stella shifted and snorted.

“You like that Stells?” he smiled. “This is a completely crazy idea your Aunt Mercedes had. Thankfully you’re too young to laugh at your old man.”

He scribbled some notes on a sticky note and stuck it on the side of the computer screen for later reference. He opened another of the songs and found that, while the lyrics seemed badass and take no prisoners, all he could hear in his head was a little bit slower ballad. He gently maneuvered and found a yellow note pad, the sticky note not sufficient.

He’d take exactly two music classes in his life but for some reason most of it stuck and he was drawing the lines and putting in the notes like it hadn’t been half a decade since he really took any music seriously. His pencil was going so fast that the paper tore at places when he got too excited.

All the while Stella curled herself up on his chest, her steady breathing a weirdly grounding force. He would hum her parts, even though he knew she had no idea what he was doing.

“That’s awesome,” Kurt observed from the office door. Puck startled but Stella seemed not to mind.

Puck shifted Stella from one side to the other of his neck so he could turn and look at Kurt. “How long were you listening?”

“Just a minute or two.” He smiled. “That was a you original, wasn’t it?”

“Kind of.” Puck nodded. “The lyrics are all Mercedes. She just asked for some help with the music.”

Kurt walked to where Puck was holding Stella and leaned down to kiss the top of Stella’s sleeping head and then smashed a smiling kiss to Puck’s lips. “Dinner’s ready.”

Puck stood up carefully. “I’ll put her in the buggy, just in case.”

“Hey.” Kurt stopped him with a hand on his chest. He curled his fingers in and pulled him down for another lingering kiss. “I really liked it.”

For some reason this allowed Puck to exhale a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He kissed him back.

‘Thanks.”  He smiled like he meant it.

*

Puck noticed pretty quickly that dinner was uncomfortably quiet. Kurt was the one to do the talking more than half the time. It was just his thing and Puck was okay with that. He liked Kurt’s voice, even if about two thirds of the stuff coming out of it made no sense to him.

Even after all the time they’d been together he wasn’t going to get the difference between prints or the supposedly hilarious mistake one of the interns made with the fabric choice. Just the same way that when Puck bitched or moaned about working on his motorcycle Kurt knew just to take it in stride, not add in any commentary at all and end it with, “Yeah, I get that.” They both knew it, but neither really cared.

But neither of them talking was just unsettling. Puck twirling his fork around the pasta but not really eating it as he waited for Kurt to say something, _anything_ , made it feel like time went backwards rather than forwards. He sipped from the glass of wine – white not red as Kurt said it would overtake the meal, whatever that meant – he had in front of him and looked over at Stella still content in her little white baby buggy.

When he looked at Kurt, who stared at his plate like it was his job, he couldn’t take it any longer.

“ _What_?”

Kurt gave him his skittered deer look, the one he used in high school after he started being nice to him, like he was playing a prank on him or something. Puck just stared at him, feeling entirely like he’d done something but nothing he could pin point in the last twenty-four hours.

He took a deep breath and tried for just a pure calm feeling, as he knew that Kurt read into his tones way more than what they meant. “It’s obvious that something is going on so ….What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”  Kurt’s lie was faulty at best. Puck stared again. Kurt crumbled a little. “Did you have a good time with Mercedes today?”

Puck shrugged. “She took me to Pepe Le Pew’s or whatever the flavor of the week is. We talked about music.”

“Hers or yours?” Kurt looked downright frightened and Puck wanted to kiss him just for being so stupid.

“Hers, sure. Mine, yes,” he answered vaguely. He stared at his plate and mushed the contents together. “She wants me to try and put together some melodies or whatever before her record label saddles her with a newbie. Not like I’m not a newbie.”

Kurt nodded. “So you weren’t joking that that music was actually for her?”

“For her to look at. She’s coming over tomorrow, she’ll disagree with it and blam. Back to normal. Want more wine?”

Kurt looked at his half gone glass and nodded. When Puck came back Kurt had a tentative look on his face. “Do you want to do it?”

“Yeah, I mean, what guitarist wouldn’t want to?”

“Can I hear what you have once the princess goes to bed?”

Puck hesitated. There was a difference between playing it for a four-month old rather than someone who actually could verbalize not only if he sucked but how. Granted, he had said that he liked it when he leant against the doorstep… Puck hesitated but nodded and he was glad that he did when he did because a blushing nervous Kurt was just a little much for him.

*

Puck found he made excuses after dinner, taking longer than really needed to clean the dishes. Kurt gave Stella a bath, so by the time he got to the nursery she was wrapped up, fresh and clean and Kurt was singing silly songs about what was going on in the room – “Teddy’s on the counter, on the counter, just chi-chi-chilling. Daddy’s taking f-f-f-forever”-- to her like he always did when he was trying to settle her.  
It was Puck’s turn to watch in the doorway until Kurt looked up and smiled.  “There you are. You know what she wants.”

He wasn’t entirely sure that his daughter really knew the difference between songs but he and Kurt had started a joke that she wouldn’t sleep unless Puck sang her a song by a Jewish singer. Granted, she was only a quarter Jewish and that wasn’t even by birth. It had taken a few nights to perfect it and even more time to find appropriate songs to sing but the girl fell asleep like a rock half way through his rendition of Billy Joel’s “Lullaby (Goodnight my Angel)”. It was one of those things that made him feel warm and fuzzy and forget his street rep and his nerves. It made him want a huge family and a life where he could sing that song to their kids every night. It was silly, but it was true.

When Kurt put her in her crib and she instantly didn’t start to scream they both relaxed in a way that they reserved for this time of night. That was until Kurt turned to him with interested eyes and Puck’s stomach tensed instantly. “You ready to share now?”

The honest answer was _hell no_ but he was always pretty weak for Kurt’s smile. “Sure.”

His fingers tapped nervously on the side of his guitar. He’d yet to really play out the ideas and he was suddenly nervous that what was in his head wasn’t going to translate into actual music. He got that way about all of his songs, sure, but it didn’t make any of the fear ebb. He started with the ballad, the one he’d heard almost like a finished track in his head.

It was a bit weird to be singing a song meant for a different voice entirely but the words were the last thing he was scared of. He had to start over twice; both times he started on a weird octave and found by the first chorus it wasn’t going to work. The third time, he guessed, was the charm. It was easier to play to a larger group, he found, because every time Kurt twitched he was so painfully aware of it he felt like stopping.

When he finished he messed up by adding a little flourish and looked up awkwardly. “…Without that last … thing.”

Kurt’s face was a blank slate and no one could ever say that Noah Puckerman was the patient sort. He stared with his fingers just above the strings. He looked for signs of coming up with lies but then when he really looked he saw a bit of shine in the corners of Kurt’s eyes.

“Are you going to cry?” Puck asked, incapable of hiding the smile that gave him.

Kurt put a hand up and wiped at the sides of his eyes indignantly. “ _Jerk._. How did you make me want to cry at those lyrics?”

Puck shrugged, looked down at the notes, rubbed his neck and felt maybe a little flush of relief –not a blush. He looked back up to see Kurt’s eyes on his notes. “Hey!”

“Oh, whatever.”  Kurt rolled his eyes. “This is really good, Noah. You know that, right? And you wrote this _today_? While holding a squirming Stella?”

“She was actually pretty zen, I think I might try the humming thing a little more often. Maybe it’s just the vibration?”

Kurt nodded but then put a hand up. “We aren’t changing the topic back to her. This, Noah Hummel-Puckerman, we are talking about **this**. Do you have any more?”

Puck lifted the sticky note of an idea he had for the other song. He played the beginning of it but frowned. “Just a couple of ideas.”

But then Kurt just continued to watch him, and so Puck did what was natural and noodled around with the chords like maybe he was going somewhere. Truthfully he wasn’t entirely sure what that song should be. With the other song it came out naturally, now he felt a little pushed.

Kurt started to hum a little, taking a counter-melody but then as usual he pushed a point of view across even in his voice. Puck paused for half a moment before he wiped his right hand on the side of his pants and started again. He tried the same melody but with a different syncopation than he had used the first try. It started to work, and within a minute he had the basic frame work of the chorus and at least one verse.

He looked at Kurt with a half smile. “So you figure we could get away with going Simon and Garfunkel?”

“Pscha,” Kurt rolled his eyes. “Hummel and Puckerman doesn’t have the same ring to it and I am not bringing Stella on the tour life for her to become the new Miley whoever.”

Puck couldn’t help but laugh. “You really think we’d let her do that?”

“You think that girl is going to even need to bat her eyes before you give in? You’re a total sap for her.”

“I’m the one who is wrapped around her finger?” Puck gawked. “You designed her a clothing line before she hit a month.”

Kurt shrugged. “I stand firm by that. All ages need to be able to dress the way they want.”

“She _wants_ to be warm, she’s still color blind!”

“You read the books!” Kurt exclaimed happily, like that should shock him.

Puck moved his guitar back and leaned himself sinfully close to Kurt. “I told you I did, didn’t I?”

He felt the shiver that went up his husband’s spine. He tried his best to forget about the fact that this was over a baby book. It’d been a while and a quick check to the baby monitor told them it might just be time. He felt relaxed for the first time in weeks, amazed at just how the short amount of time playing music gave him some time to feel back in his own skin.

But there were other ways to remind him of who he was. He kissed Kurt and took the time to suck his lower lip in between his teeth. It was a habit from forever ago, but felt nice just the same. Kurt put his hand up to brush at Puck’s too long hair and he ducked into it.

“Time for a hair cut,” Kurt whispered, not a chastisement. He tugged a little and Puck snapped his teeth at him affectionately, barely missing his lips.

“Bedroom?”

Kurt’s eyes flicked to the monitor and then to him. “Beat you there.”

*

Mercedes showed up the next afternoon, which she called morning but they were working on Stella’s second nap of the day, and smiled as soon as the door opened.

“Is this Noah Puckerman or have I gone back in time a decade?”  She laughed and leaned in to give him a hug. He still wasn’t an expert at them but he tried his best and figured that that was the lesson of the last few days if nothing else. ‘Try your best.’

“Naw, it’s those stunna shades, Mercedes,” Puck teased. “You can’t see a thing.”

Mercedes took off her glasses and gave him a once over. “Man, you got laid last night.”

Had this been high school, Puck would have laughed it off and said something like, ‘Hells yeah’, but it felt different in his own house and with his own kid sleeping not fifty feet away. Instead he lifted his hand and fist-bumped her. Something that hadn’t been in style in forever, but he could care less. It got his point across.

“Did you even have time to look at my music?” she huffed, but smiled at the same time.

He led her to the room that he could consider an office, mindful of the little white box that was his life-line to Stella. He knew he probably could count on a half hour to an hour more but leave it to his daughter to change her mind to suit herself.

He was nervous again, oddly less so than he had been with Kurt but nervous either way. He picked up his guitar and slung it over his shoulder.

“So that piece you gave me, the one called ‘Mix Mingle’.”  He handed her the sheets he’d printed out. “I really like it.”

Mercedes looked at him dubiously. “But…”

“But… I think you were hoping for something a little more club beat or maybe even just faster. I didn’t hear that.”

“What did you hear?”

Puck swallowed, at least this time he wouldn’t have to do any of the singing. He started off by playing the beginning once and then started again, giving her a chance to hear the pace. He kept his eyes on the musical notes he’d jotted down the night before and waited for her to jump in with her voice. It took almost to the chorus before she did and his stomach was tightly coiled.

Her voice, though, eased comfortably into the words. He’d always been amazed at how the girl could sing. Her voice made the lyrics go from what felt ridiculous in his voice to a slow aching pain and for once Puck could feel why Kurt went a little teary eyed.

He got through the part that he’d stumbled over the first time he played it and by the time it ended he faded out with much less finesse. Mercedes paused all of three and a half seconds before she squealed her appreciation.

Pulling him into a huge hug, she almost yelled. “Perfect! I mean, you are going to have to go through and make some of it higher. And that second bridge is off, don’t know how, we can hammer out the details with the sound guy, Jake. The execs are going to flip.”

“You know.” Puck lifted a brow. “I’m not a broken toy, you don’t have to fix me. If you didn’t like it…”

Mercedes leveled him with a stare, but she must have noticed his soft smile because the next thing he felt was a smack to the arm. “Don’t even pull that with me! I knew you when you thought you were the center of the universe.”

“I _was_ the center of the universe.” Puck laughed, flexing his right arm and clearly acting up. “And I was the center of _yours_ for a while.”

She waved her hand and laughed at him. “For a half a day, tops. Then I saw who you really were.”

“Well, who was I?”

“Scared seventeen year old who was kind of a bully with a heart of gold.”

Puck was taken aback for a moment. “What do you mean a heart of gold? I call bull. You would have hoped I found my gold with you.”

“Oh Puck, I don’t mine for gold, I _wear_ it.”  She winked. “Besides, I got the feeling I wasn’t the person you were looking for. Granted my bet wouldn’t have gone on Kurt but eh. I get things wrong.”

The little white box beside him went from silent to bright red and the familiar call of an angry Stella. He checked his watch. It wasn’t that much earlier than she usually gave him but he jogged the halls of his house till he got to her room. He found her bright red and angry, pacifier disregarded.

Once he’d calmed her down enough to take her out and not feel like the worst parent ever he showed her off to Mercedes, who’d already seen her countless times.

“And the new reigning center of the universe,” Mercedes laughed.

Stella blinked up, like she could almost get the joke, and then wiggled in his arms and spat her newly replaced pacifier out. “I think it’s grub time, what do you think, Stelly Belly?”

Mercedes laughed again, pushed the back of her hand to her mouth and barely contained cracking entirely up. “You call her Stelly Belly.”

Puck, unapologetic to a fault, shrugged. “Well sometimes it’s Smelly Belly. Depending on her state of diaper.”

“Definitely not the Puck I knew,” Mercedes quipped.

There was that feeling, those generals tug at his heart moments that came without thought. That he was never going back to whom he was. But who he was seemed so extremely not who he was he felt that it was a fair trade. The old him would still be in the bar, screwing anything that moved and probably miserable. Instead he got a house, a kid and if things turned out how Mercedes seemed so sure of, a pretty kick ass job.

He took the bottle he was preparing and shook it back and forth with the ease that the weeks since Stella came home had afforded.

“Want to feed her?” Puck offered. He didn’t know why but most of the time if he offered that it was like a gift. He swore if Sarah was allowed she would fly from Ohio to feed her every meal.

Mercedes smiled. “Shirking your job?”

“On the contrary, I can play you the other song that I worked on with Kurt last night. It will be a two-fer.”

“You didn’t even need an excuse, you know that, right?” Mercedes made grabby hands at Stella and they made the slow hand off. Out of habit he put the drink in Stella’s mouth and relaxed when she went to work gulping like this wasn’t her first meal in two hours.

He led the two of them to the office type area and couldn’t help but continue to grin. It was shaping up to be a really great day.

  



End file.
